A Rake's Vow (Cynster 2)

Vane did not fancy that. He had plans-a heavy fall of snow was not part of them. He glanced at Patience, seated beside him. Then he smiled, and quaffed the last of his port.

Fate couldn't be that cruel.

He was the last to climb the stairs, after walking a last round about the huge house. All was silent, all was still. It seemed the only other life in the old house was Myst, darting up the stairs before him. The small cat had elected to follow him on his round, weaving about his boots, then dashing into the shadows. He'd walked out of the side door to study the sky. Myst had disappeared into the dark, only to return a few minutes later, sneezing snowflakes off her pink nose, shaking them disdainfully from her fur.

His thoughts in the future, Vane followed Myst up the stairs, through the gallery, down one flight, and along the corridor. He reached his room and opened the door; Myst darted through.

Vane grinned and followed-then remembered he'd meant to go to Patience's room. He looked around, to call Myst back-and saw Patience, dozing in the chair by the fire.

Lips curving, Vane closed the door. Myst woke Patience before he reached her-she looked up, then smiled, rose-and walked straight into his arms. He closed them about her.

Eyes shining, she looked into his. "I love you."

Vane's lips lifted as he bent to kiss her. "I know."

Patience returned the gentle caress. "Was I that obvious?"

"Yes." Vane kissed her again. "That part of the equation was never in doubt." Briefly, his lips brushed hers. "Nor was the rest of it. Not from the moment I first held you in my arms."

The rest of it-his part of the equation-his feelings for her.

Patience drew back so she could study his face. She lifted a hand to his cheek. "I needed to know."

The planes of his face shifted; desire flared in his eyes. "Now you do." He lowered his head and kissed her again. "Incidentally, don't ever forget it."

Already breathless, Patience chuckled. "You'll have to make sure you remind me."

"Oh, I will. Every morning and every night."

The words were a vow-a promise. Patience found his lips with hers and kissed him until she was witless. Chuckli

ng, Vane lifted his head. Wrapping one arm around her, he steered her to the bed. "Theoretically, you shouldn't be here."'

"Why? What's the difference-your bed or mine?"

"Quite a lot, by servants' standards. They'll accept the sight of gentlemen wandering the house in the early hours, but for some reason, the sight of ladies flitting through the dawn in their nightgowns incites rampant speculation."

"Ah," Patience said, as they halted by the bed. "But I'll be fully clothed." She gestured to her gown. "There'll be no reason for speculation."

Vane met her gaze. "What about your hair?"

"My hair?" Patience blinked. "You'll just have to help me put it up again. I assume 'elegant gentlemen,' such as you, learn such useful skills very early in life."

"Actually, no." Straight-faced, Vane reached for her pins. "Us rakes-of-the-first-order…" Dropping pins left and right, he set her hair cascading down. With a satisfied smile, he caught her about the waist and drew her hard against him. "We," he said, looking into her eyes, "spend our time concentrating on rather different skills-like letting ladies' hair down. And getting them out of their clothes. Getting them into bed. And other things."

He demonstrated-very effectively.

As he spread her thighs and sank deeply into her, Patience's breath fractured on a gasp.

He moved within her, claiming her, pressing deep, only to withdraw and fill her again. Arms braced, he reared above her, and loved her; beneath him, Patience writhed. When he bent his head and found her lips, she clung to the caress, clung to the moment. Clung to him.

Their lips parted, and she sighed. And felt his words against her lips as he moved deeply within her.

"With my body, I thee worship. With my heart, I thee adore. I love you. And if you want me to say it a thousand times, I will. Just as long as you'll be my wife."

"I will." Patience heard the words in her head, tasted them on her lips-she felt them resonate in her heart.

The next hour passed, and not a single coherent phrase passed their lips. The warm stillness within the room was broken only by the rustling of sheets, and soft, urgent murmurs. Then the silence gave way to soft moans, groans, breathless pants, desperate gasps. Culminating in a soft, piercingly sweet scream, dying, sobbing, into a deep guttural groan.